Broken and Bent
by darkpartofmydestiny
Summary: Jon Snow suffers a severe injury as a five year old child. His father and his brother are by his side, but so is someone more unexpected. Some warnings for description of injury (very mild).


The sound of young laughter rang through the dark, dusty corridors in a forgotten part of the castle. Two young boys chased after each other, dark curls shaking and bouncing as they raced down the hall. They called out taunts to each other as the youngest boy tried to catch up to the eldest.

"Can't catch me, dung head!"

"Can too, pig brain!"

Robb ran faster, through the empty room before Jon had even entered, and grinning widely, the eldest boy hurriedly tucked himself behind a wall, ready to jump out and tackle the other to the ground. He waited as he heard the rapid footsteps approach until - suddenly - they stopped. He heard a distant thumping sound, but nothing else. He held his breath, sure that his playmate was planning the same trick he was. After a few minutes, he gave up.

"Alright Jon, very funny. Come out now! You can't scare me!" His words were only met with silence. "Jon? This isn't a joke anymore, stop it." As Robb emerged from his hiding place and turned back into the main corridor, he let out a yell, steadying himself to a stop. Instead of the floor he had been expecting, there was a large hole, just big enough for a small boy like Jon to fall straight through. Father had told them many times how weak the wooden floors were in this part of the castle, and that they could collapse at any moment. Robb wished now that they'd listened. He peered into the darkness, and he could see Jon's body beneath him but could hear no sound coming from him.

"Jon! Jon, are you alright?" His voice was tight, the lump of fear in his throat stopping him from speaking clearly. Running away from the hole in the floor, he ran for the other set of stairs, not wanting to go anywhere near the floor in the other room.

"Help!" Robb called out, knowing that they were deep in the castle's walls and that nobody was meant to come here. "Jon, Jon I've got to go and get help. I'll be back, really soon, I promise." He ran as fast as he could, and now it was no longer a game he ran faster than he ever knew he could.

Racing down the steep stone stairs and emerging into the courtyard, he grabbed the first person he could, one of the dressmakers.

"Please help, please!" He was out of breath and panting with the effort of running so fast.

"What's the matter, m'Lord?" She asked, dropping the pile of cloth she was carrying and bending down to his eye level. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"It's Jon, he's hurt, we were playing up in a tower and the floor was weak, just like Father said it is, and he fell through, I couldn't see him properly, I don't know if he's alive or d-dead." He was sobbing now, and fell into the woman's shoulder. The woman patted his back, and called across the courtyard for someone to fetch Maester Lewin and Lord Stark, and Jory and any other strong man they could find.

"They'll be 'ere in a moment, m'Lord, and you must take them to Jon. D'you remember where it was he fell?"

Robb nodded his head, tears already starting to streak down his face, no matter how hard he told himself to be brave. "What if he dies?" He whispered, a lump blocking his throat. The dressmaker, already uncertain while speaking to a Stark, could not say anything more, and instead wiped the boy's tears away and stroked his hair - like he was any lowborn boy of hers.

Blessedly, she caught sight of long grey robes and could see Maester Luwin making his way as fast as he could. She gave a small smile to Robb and said softly, "See, M'lord? Everythin' will be alright now. You take 'im to yer brother, and 'e'll be alright." Maester Luwin reached them, and she nodded her head and took her leave.

"Robb, what's happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, not me, it's Jon, we were playing chase and the floor broke, he fell right through, I didn't hear anything, he didn't yell, he might be dead." Robb was shaking now, tears pouring down his face and splashing down onto his shoes.

"Where is he?"

"Up in the tower." The Maester put his hand on the young Stark's shoulder and steered him towards the entrance. Robb raced ahead, and the old man followed the young wolf as fast as he could. They entered the room below where they were playing, which was now full of dust and splintered wood. Robb raced over to him, and almost sobbed with relief to see his little brother breathing. His leg was twisted, his head bleeding heavily.

"Move aside, Robb. Let me see him." Robb shifted slightly so that the Maester could examine his brother, but never moving far from his side. "He's breathing, but he's still not woken and it must be many minutes since he first fell. We need to move him into his bed chamber and clean the wound on his head. His leg is broken, certainly, and we must be careful of his spine, it might be broken too." Luwin saw no point in sugar coating potential injuries. "Go and fetch Hodor, tell him to bring a stiff wooden plank to carry him on. Send word to your father while you're down there."

The boy rushed off, and Lewin attempted to make Jon more comfortable, removing the boy's tunic and placing it under his head. The light was dim, and Lewin's eyes were getting weaker along with the rest of him, and he could barely make out the severity of the wound, as it was covered by a forest of black hair.

Hodor arrived with the rest of them, carrying the thickest plank Robb had been able to find from the carpenter. Eddard cried out when he saw his son's battered and broken little body, feeling sick at the helplessness he felt. He helped Hodor move the boy gently on to the blank, and ripped material from his own underclothes to strap him down securely. How many times, Eddard wondered, had he warned the boys to stop playing up here?

* * *

Hours later, Jon still had not woken. Eddard sat by his son's bed, silent and brooding. Maester Luwin had dressed his broken leg, determined that his spine was not broken, and said that they would have to wait and see how bad his head wound had been. Warning Ned that the boy could suffer memory loss, and perhaps even long term damage, his face had been grim. Luwin had always cared for the boy, perhaps pitying his treatment as a bastard, and to see him in such a state was distressing for all who loved Jon.

"How is he?" Eddard looked up with a start, surprised to hear his wife's voice. He got up from his chair, softening at the sight of her heavily pregnant belly. Another Stark in Winterfell. He walked to her and took her in his arms, breathing in the calming scent of her hair.

"No change. He hasn't moved, hasn't opened his eyes. Maester Luwin's gone to make a salve for his wound. He's had to cut his hair to stitch the cut on his head." Catelyn's eyes moved to the little boy in the bed, his dark curly hair only on one side, close shaven stubble on the other.

"Robb wanted to come, he cried all evening into my skirts. He worked himself into a state, he's asleep in our chamber. He says it's his fault, that he told Jon to go to that part of the castle."

"I've caught them up there many times, Cat. Hell, I used to play up there myself when I was a lad. I should have stopped them." He took a shaky breath. "What if he doesn't wake up? Luwin says he should at least be awake, maybe even speaking, by now." Catelyn was silent. He caught sight of her face. "I'm sorry, I know it pains you to see me show affection to him. He is my son, Cat, bastard or not, and I treat him like I do all my children. Robb, little Sansa, that one in there." He gestured to her belly. "They are all of my blood, and they are all mine to protect. He's five years old, Cat. Don't take my mistake out on him."

"You think that I feel nothing, seeing that boy lie there helpless? That I can watch a child hover between life and death and be glad?" She exhaled shakily, clinging to her stomach. "I've prayed to all the Gods that Jon may recover, Ned. He may not be my blood, but he is yours. Remember when he was nothing but a babe, sick with fever? I sat with him all night, watching that little boy struggle with his breath. I watched over him as a_ mother_."

"Yet you would stop him being a Stark, from being my son in name as well as blood. I heard your promise to the Gods that night when he was sick. You'd curse him with a Bastard name for the rest of his life rather than forgive me?"

"He is a bastard, Ned, and to put him on level with our children would be a betrayal to me all over again."

"Go back to our chamber, Cat. Check on Robb, make sure he is sleeping soundly. Leave me with my son." His back was turned to her once more, and he moved to sit back in the chair.

Through her tears, Catelyn tried to protest, but Ned shot a cold look over his shoulder, and she retreated.

* * *

As the sun rose, Ned was woken from his reluctant slumber by the feel of someone touching his hair. He woke with a start, his sleeping instincts razor sharp after his years spent as a soldier, and was incredibly relieved to see the hand touching his hair was child sized, and belonged to his youngest son. Smiling with pure, elated joy, he met the eyes of his little boy.

"Jon, you're awake."

"What happened, father? Why are you sleeping in my room?"

"You don't remember?" The boy shook his head no, and Eddard felt saddened at seeing only half his hair bounce. "You had an accident, son. The floor in the castle where you were chasing, it was weak, and it collapsed under you. You fell from quite a height. Your leg's broken I'm afraid." Jon nodded, lifting the covers to look at his leg.

"It hurts."

"It would, it was all twisted. Luwin's set it, so you won't be able to walk for a few weeks, and it will take a few months until it's strong again. But you need to be patient with it, alright? Do what Maester Luwin says and it will heal well - go against him and you could end up a cripple." Jon looked down at his hands. "You understand?"

"Yes, father." He paused, and lifted a hand to his head, first the side where his curls were, and finally round to the shaved side. "Where's my hair?"

"You hit your head, lad, and we had to cut the hair away to stitch it back up."

"Was there a lot of blood?" He was at that age where blood and guts were still fun to him.

"Aye, more than I knew was in you. Now, I better go and tell Luwin you're awake."

"Is Robb alright, Father? He didn't fall too?"

"No, lad. Just you. He got you the help you needed. If you were on your own, you might have died." Jon let out a little cry, and Ned felt bad for scaring him. "Just don't go back up there again, alright?" Jon nodded hard, his eyes shining with tears. "I expect Robb will be in here as soon as he hears you're alright. Just make sure he stays off that leg, and you stay in bed."

Jon nodded sleepily, and drifted back to sleep. When he woke again, he jumped to see Robb's face about two inches away from his own.

"He's alive!" His elder brother called out, a little too loudly for Jon's still-painful head.

"Shut up a bit, my head hurts." Jon groaned. "And get off the bed, you're hurting my leg." Robb jumped down immediately.

"Robb, I told you to be gentle and quiet!" Jon was surprised to see Lady Stark standing in the doorway, smiling at Robb and - he hoped - him as well. "How are you feeling, Jon?"

"B-better, thank you Lady Stark."

"Good. You gave us all quite a scare." Her voice was still tight with formality, but her smile was genuine. "You must be careful with that leg. No touching it, scratching or moving it too much." She moved closer to the bed, and pointed to the small table beside his bed. "There's a little bell for you, if you need the chamber pot, you must ring it and somebody will come and help you. You are not to get out of bed by yourself." Jon nodded, still fearful she was going to shout at him for getting hurt.

"Thank you, Lady Stark." He said in his small voice. "I won't get out of bed on my own."

"Good boy." And in a gesture that was entirely foreign to Jon, she reached out and stroked the side of his head that still had hair. For a moment, just one moment, he felt like he had a mother. "Now, Robb, you have your lessons and Jon needs to rest." Robb opened his mouth to protest, and she held up a hand. "You can come and visit again later. Jon, get some rest."

He nodded, tired again, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Weeks passed, and Jon was confined to his bed. He had lessons from his bed, ate his meals from his bed, and got very, very bored in his bed. One day, when the lessons were over and lunch had been eaten and boredom had taken over, the door gently opened. He was surprised to see Lady Stark standing in the doorway, her belly large with a baby that was due to arrive any day.

"Lady Stark."

"Hello Jon. How are you feeling?"

"Bored." Catelyn couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm not surprised. Maester Luwin says the bones are mending well, you should be able to start getting up and strengthening your leg soon." Jon smiled happily. They had convinced him to let them cut the other side of his hair, and he looked much better as a result. "And, I have a gift for you."

"For me? Really?" Aside from a present or two from his father on his Name Days, Jon had never received a present for no reason, and had certainly never received a present from Lady Stark.

"Something to pass the time until you can get up again." From behind her back, she pulled two small dolls, both in cotton armor holding tiny wooden swords. She handed them to Jon who took them eagerly, staring down at them in awe. "I hope you like them."

"They're the very best thing I have ever seen." Tears fell down his cheek. "I will look after them, I promise."

"I know."

"Thank you, Lady Stark."

"You're welcome, Jon. Now, did Maester Luwin leave you any writing to practice?" The boy nodded, and she went to fetch his slate and chalk. "Well, here you are." Watching the boy start to scratch wobbly letters on the slate, she walked out and shut the door behind her. These last few weeks had taught her that Jon wasn't a monster, wasn't a demon sent to test her - he was a little boy without a mother. Just like the pox, she had taken care of him again. And just like the pox, she knew that she could never love him, this beautiful little boy. She wished with all her heart that she could - but the hatred of his mother was too strong within her.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, so I love writing one shots about the Starks before Robert bloody Baratheon turned up and ruined EVERYTHING. I like watching the first episode over and over so I can pretend it's just a nice show where a family find some dogs (and behead a man) and just live a nice life and NOTHING BAD HAPPENS, NOBODY DIES, NOBODY GETS TAKEN HOSTAGE AND NOBODY MARRIES CHARLIE CHAPLIN'S GRANDAUGHTER WHILE BETROTHED TO FILCH'S DAUGHTER, which is basically my motivation for all these little Stark stories. Anyway, tangent aside, I hope you enjoy this story. Not really sure where it came from in my mind, but I love the idea of the family pulling together when someone's ill, and looking at the contrast between Bran's fall and Jon's (which obviously I made up). So, if you enjoyed (and made it through this rambly author's note) please leave a review! And let me know if you like these Stark family stories, because I basically just want to write them forever and ever and ever until I undo all the bad things that happen to them.  
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**Anyway..review! **


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